


The Earth Moves Under Our Feet (It's A Loco Motion)

by notanightlight



Series: Love In A Time Of Train Heists [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, References To Historical Racism, Sharp Shooting, Train Heist, Wild West AU, no slurs used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanightlight/pseuds/notanightlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The West is still Wild.  Gimli is working on the railway, Legolas is a gunslinger, and someone needs to turn this train around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Earth Moves Under Our Feet (It's A Loco Motion)

**Author's Note:**

> Started out as the five word prompt "that isn't how trains work" from mrsgurgle on tumblr.
> 
> Mostly betaed by the wonderful squickymuse!

 

Gimli could have been the kind of son who didn't break his ma’s heart by leaving home for a new start in a far off new country. He could have been the kind of man who broke his back working rented land that he'd never own. He could have stayed in that little village in Tipperary like of all of father's fathers before him. Instead, he was in the cab of a runaway train thundering through some God forsaken frontier land with a panicky bandit.

Sometimes Gimli really questioned his life choices.

A particularly hard judder sent the aforementioned bandit scrambling to get a hand on the side of the cab.

“Can't you turn this loco contraption around!” he shouted over the chugging of the train, his other hand clutching at his wide brimmed hat to keep it from blowing off in the wind.

“That isn't how trains work!” Gimli shouted back. He silently cursed Schwartz’s name to the high heavens for bailing like a coward.

“Then slow it down! Stop it! Do something, Irish!” the bandit demanded.

Gimli snorted. It was better than what Schwartz usually called him.

“I'm a fireman! I keep the coal in the tender, I don't drive this thing!” he argued.

The bandit gave him a steely-eyed look, and Gimli was abruptly reminded of the pistols ready to be drawn from the man’s holsters.

“Then I suggest you figure out how to, and get to figuring fast.”

His voice was low and threatening in a way that sent ice down Gimli’s spine. Gimli couldn't help but swallow nervously as he turned to the controls at the front of the cab. He hadn't been lying; Gimli was no engineer, he hadn't even been a fireman all that long, but he'd seen Schwartz at the controls enough times that he had at least some sort of idea what they did.

Gimli got a hand on the floor mounted lever he was fairly certain was the brake and gave it a tug. The lever didn't budge. He tried pulling with both hands, but still couldn't get the lever to move. Now Gimli could honestly claim that he was a strong man. It took a lot of muscle shoveling coal, and the same could be said for his previous job carrying bricks, but try as he might, he couldn't make that lever budge an inch.

“The damned brake’s jammed!” Gimli shouted at the bandit in frustration. He turned to see the man pulling his head back into the cab, lowering his hand as if he'd been whistling or hollering, but any sound he made must've been swallowed by the wind.

“Just put your back into it,” he replied.

“Put your back into it!” Gimli sputtered, his temper getting the better of his sense of self preservation. “I am putting my back into it!” He snapped, rolling up his sleeves and firming up his grip on the lever again, “I'd like to see you try putting your back into it!”

The bandit blinked at Gimli’s bared forearms before replying just as snappishly.

“Fine! I will!”

The bandit stomped his way towards the controls, bracing his back against the front of the cab and planting one booted foot against the lever.

“Now on three. One, two, three!”

The two of them strained at the stubborn lever fruitlessly.

“We wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn't held up the train in the first place,” Gimli grit out, sweat beading on his forehead as he pulled.

“Hey, I didn't plan on doing no train heist solo today,” the bandit grit back, his indignation clear even through the strain on his face. “I was just minding my own business, when some uppish deputy recognized my face in town and got ideas ‘bout making a name for himself. I just hopped the quickest ride outta that place. ‘Taint my fault everybody and their brother’s been making assumptions ‘bout my intentions!”

“You pointed a gun at the engineer’s face!” Gimli shouted at the bandit across from him.

“I just wanted him to let me off this damned train!” he hollered back.

There was a loud SNAP! that left Gimli's ears ringing as the two tumbled to the floor. Gimli stared in dazed astonishment at the broken lever still clutched in his hands.

The bandit blinked at him, hat gone all askew in the fall.

“I guess you really were putting your back into it.”

Gimli couldn't decide if he felt like laughing, screaming, or just lying down and giving into his obvious fate, so instead he just continued to stare at the metal in his hands.

“I can't believe we broke the brake,” he said, feeling a bit numb all over.

The bandit stood up, brushing off his chaps and straightening out his hat.

“To be fair, I get the feeling that brake was already broke, what with the way it was sticking,” he said, almost conversationally, “Just gotta get back to figuring.” Gimli couldn't help but think that the man must be a touch mad, the way he went from chilling threats to civil conversation quick as a thought, even as they barreled towards their inevitable end. He was smiling even, as he grabbed ahold of the broken brake and hauled Gimli to his feet.

“Now you just get back to those gadgets and figure out which one of them is going to stop this crazy contraption,” the bandit continued, giving Gimli a small shove back towards the controls.

Gimli watched in confusion as the man put a hand on his hat and leaned out over the side of the cab again. Definitely a madman.

“Right,” Gimli said to himself, scraping some composure back together before facing the controls again. He tossed the brake aside and set to studying the levers. If he could find the throttle, maybe he could slow down the train enough to let it coast to a stop. He got a firm grip on a promising looking lever and pushed up.

The train lurched forward, suddenly picking up more speed.

“Hey!” the bandit shouted, jerking himself back into the cab with a cross expression on his face.

“Sorry, sorry!” Gimli called back as he fumbled for the lever again. “That was the wrong way!”

He pulled the lever down and let out a relieved sigh as the train began to lose speed incrementally.

The bandit gave him a broad grin. “Now, that’s more like it! Knew you could do it, Irish.”

Gimli just shook his head, dabbing at the sweat on his brow.

“Oh, finally. It’ll take a while, but the train should slow to a stop,” Gimli said, unable to keep himself from smiling.

“Glad to hear it,” said the bandit, giving Gimli a friendly slap on the back. “Do you think it'll stop before the bend in the track?”

Gimli blinked.

“What bend in the track?”

The bandit dragged Gimli to the side of the cab and pointed forward at a rapidly approaching curve.

“That one!”

Gimli’s stomach dropped to his shoes.

“Saints above,” he murmured.

“That a ‘no’?” the bandit asked.

Stepping back into the cab, Gimli ran a hand over his face.

“If we hit that curve at the speed we’re going,” Gimli explained haltingly, “there is no way this train is staying on the track. And we're moving too fast for the train to slow down in time.”

He looked up at the strange bandit.

“We're going to wreck.”

The bandit had a hand held to his chin in a thoughtful manner, sharp eyes sweeping over the cab. His gaze paused on the line of boxcars trailing behind them.

“What if we lost the extra weight?” he asked, “mightn’t that make it a bit easier to slow ‘er down?”

Gimli snorted.

“Couldn't hurt, but it's not that easy to uncouple a train car,” he explained, “I know men who have lost hands just coupling them together, and that's when they're standing still! Not to mention that you'd have to climb over the outside of train to get to the link-and-pin in the first place.”

The bandit was still studying the cars intensely.

“‘Bout how many paces long do you think that coal car is?”

“Your paces, or mine?” he asked, sweeping a glance over the bandit’s long legs and upward until he met the man's amused face.

He felt his cheeks heat up and cleared his throat.

“Twenty paces.”

“And that link-and-pin?”

“About like so,” he said, indicating the size with his hands. He still couldn't fathom what was going on in that stranger's head.

The bandit gave him a sharp grin, something sparking in his eyes.

“That's all I need to know. Here, hold my hat.”

And with that, he dropped his hat onto Gimli's head. Gimli watched in pure bewilderment as he laid down on the cab floor, the upper half of his body hanging out the cab door and his long braid of hair whipping wildly in the wind.

“You're mad,” Gimli declared as the bandit drew one of his pistols, aiming it towards the rails below them. “You're absolutely ma—”

The sharp crack of gunfire cut him off, followed by a series of inexplicable pings before, to Gimli's utter astonishment, a pin went airborne right behind the tender car. He boggled as the boxcars slowly drifted away.

“What did you say your name was?” he asked, as the bandit stood up, grinning like a loon.

“Most folk call me Legs.”

“Legs the Longshot,” Gimli murmured faintly. There were stories carried along the railway from station to station about impossible men, untamable outlaws of the wild frontier. Gimli had always listened avidly to any story of them that was passed along, but never dreamed he'd ever meet one.

Still grinning, the bandit, Legs, plucked the hat off Gimli's head and replaced it on his own.

“So you have heard of me!” he said cheerfully.

No wonder Schwartz jumped off the train.

“Well let’s see if that did it,” Legs said, blithely ignoring Gimli’s dumbstruck expression, as he hauled him back to the cab side.

The two stuck their heads back over the side, and the sting of the wind helped snap Gimli out of his stupor. He honestly couldn't tell if they'd lost much speed, because the bend in the tracks was still growing closer at an alarming rate.

“We're still going too fast!” Gimli shouted to be heard over the wind.

To his surprise, Legs let out a gleeful whoop!

“Doesn't look too fast from my point of view!”

Gimli spun around to give Legs an incredulous look, but the bandit wasn't looking Gimli's way. He was facing the track stretched out behind them and the grey stallion that was galloping towards them.

“What's that now?”

“That's Arod! I knew he'd catch up!” Legs shouted back. “Looks like we're making it off this train after all!”

“Are you saying that this whole time you've been checking to see if your horse was following us?”

“Naw, I knew he was following us,” he replied sunnily, “I just needed to see when he was getting close enough.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Gimli asked, completely incredulous.

Legs snorted.

“Arod always follows me,” he said, leaning out of the cab door as the horse pulled along side, “he's like a little puppy that way.”

Gimli blinked at this completely impossible person in front of him. Legs merely gave him a wink before springing from the cab door to land on the grey’s saddle. The whole movement as graceful as if he'd been doing it every day of his life.

“Alright, now it's your turn, Irish,” he shouted from the saddle, motioning for Gimli to jump on.

From Gimli's perspective, the distance from the cab to the bandit’s horse seemed farther than the Mississippi was wide. The chugging of the train and beating of hooves seemed to thunder in his ears. Images of himself impacting the ground, flashed through his mind and he found his legs locked in place.

Below him, Legs was looking from Gimli to the bend and back, watching it grow steadily closer.

“Well, come on!” he yelled. “You're the one talking about wrecking. Don't tell me you're giving up on me now!”

“I can't,” Gimli choked out, still frozen with fear.

There was something a bit wild in the bandit’s eyes, all traces of joviality gone from his face.

“What's your name?” he asked seemingly out of nowhere.

The odd timing of the question struck Gimli.

“Gimli MacKenna,” he answered.

“Alright, listen to me here, Gimli,” Legs said, meeting Gimli’s eyes, “you’ve got a chance to walk away from this still breathing, but not if you stay on that train. You know this. And all you've got to do is hop on over to this horse with me. I know it seems crazy, but ‘round here there's a whole lot of crazy and you've gotta go with it if you want to survive. And I know it can be mighty frightening, but I swear, right now you ain't alone. You take this jump and I will be right here to make sure you land it.

“So come on, Gimli.” The bandit stretched a hand out towards him. “Jump!”

Gimli held Legs’ gaze, terror still racing through his veins. He took a breath, held it, and leapt.

Their hands made contact.

The next thing Gimli was actually aware of was lying across the horse’s back like a sack of flour, one of Legs’ hands still clutched tightly in his own, and the other firmly gripping the back of Gimli's overalls. Gimli grunted as he was roughly jostled by the horse's gait as it slowed to a halt, but any discomfort he might have felt was far from his mind. From his sideways position, Gimli watched in stunned fascination as the train engine went careening into the bend, tilting precariously before finally tipping over. The jarring screech of twisting metal set his hair on end as the cab and tender skidded and tumbled before finally coming to a stop.

Then there was only clouds of dust settling and silence, broken only by the panting sound of two men and one horse.

“You know, I kind of wanted to look away, but I just couldn't stop watching,” Legs commented quietly.

“Yeah,” Gimli agreed, “Now can you help me up?”

“Sure.”

It took a lot of awkward maneuvering and several near slips before Gimli was finally seated upright, clutching the saddle’s horn in a white knuckled grip. It was patently uncomfortable to have some huffing beast beneath him.

Legs chuckled softly behind him.

“If this is how you are when he's standing still, you're one lucky son of a gun that I actually put a saddle on Arod today.”

“I thought saddles were rather important when it came to riding,” Gimli commented, focusing on just staying on said saddle.

He could feel shifting from behind him as the bandit shrugged.

“Well I can't say they don't make it more comfortable on long rides, but most days Arod don't need much more than a blanket and a bridle.”

Gimli chanced an incredulous look over his shoulder.

“You really are a madman.”

Legs just tipped his hat with a charming grin. The sight of the bandit looking so pleased as punch, even with dust smudged across his face and wild strands of hair escaping his braid, startled a laugh out of Gimli. After all of the tension earlier, it felt so good to laugh.

“I'll grant you that I might be a touch on the loco side,” Legs made a show of agreeing magnanimously, “but I also like to consider myself something of an opportunist, and if there's one thing I know about trains like this one, there's most likely a safe that's all unprotected right now. So how ‘bout you and I help ourselves to them valuables inside and vamoose!”

Ah, that was right. Legs was an _outlaw_. Not some romanticized version from the penny dreadfuls, but an actual wanted man with robberies and murders to his name. This man, for all that he had saved Gimli's life, had also put it in peril in the first place. It was just a little difficult to remember that Legs wasn't any kind hero when he was standing larger than life right next to you.

A sick feeling settled in Gimli's stomach as his sense of euphoria withered.

“Legs, I think I should get down. It's going to be a long walk back to the station.”

A hand settled on Gimli’s shoulder.

“What do you want to head back to the station for?”

Gimli nearly snorted at the disappointed puzzlement that colored the bandit's voice. It was quite a change from the threats and demands of earlier, thinking back.

“If I go back right away, maybe I can still salvage my job.”

Legs sucked a breath through his teeth with a hissing sound.

“You really ain't from around these parts, are you?” he started. Gimli didn't bother to answer.

“Piece of machinery like that’s gotta cost a pretty penny,” Legs continued, gesturing to the twisted metal carcass of the engine, “and people don't take too kindly to losing that kind of coin, especially around here. They're gonna be looking for someone to take it out on, and who do you think they're going to go after? That engineer fella who's probably more ‘an halfway back by now, practicing his story about how he heroically threw himself from a moving train to go get the authorities? Or you, Irish?”

His words sat like a bitter stone in Gimli's gut, but Legs wasn't done yet.

“Sure, they'll be after my hide too, but they can't touch me. You, on the other hand, make for one mighty easy target. You really think they're just gonna pat you on the back and let it slide? Just put you on the next train outta the station and tell you to get back to work?”

Legs leaned forward to catch Gimli's eye.

“And even they did, would it really be worth it?” he asked, voice dead serious. “How much do they pay you, Gimli? Same wages as folk without an accent? Enough to stay loyal to a company that ain't never gonna care half as much about how hard you work as they do where you come from?”

His words wouldn't sting so much if there wasn't so much truth in them. Gimli was all too familiar with his whole worth being reduced down to his heritage.

Legs squeezed Gimli’s shoulder.

“But you don't have to go back to that. Come with me, Gimli. You can join my gang, ride with us, and I promise you'll be valued the same as any one of us.”

Gimli had to admit that it sounded appealing, but he certainly still had reservations.

“Why would want me to be a part of your gang? What could you possibly get out of that? You said yourself that I'm no horse rider,” he said with a rueful little laugh.

Legs sighed.

“What can I say, Gimli, I've taken a shine to you,” he replied, a fond tone in his voice, “We may have been racing to our untimely end, but I haven't had that much fun in years.

“I enjoy your company, Gimli, and I'd like to continue enjoying it. So what do you say?”

This wasn't the kind of decision to make lightly. The idea of that kind of freedom was nearly intoxicating, but joining a gang of outlaws would make him a wanted man with the law set against him. He could end up in prison... or a pine box.

What in the world would he tell his ma the next time he wrote her?

Gimli came to this country for a new start away from the oppression of home. It had been a risk. But Gimli had never shied away from a risk.

“Well, this is the land of opportunity,” Gimli relented.

He'd come up with something to tell his ma.

Legs let out an elated whoop, shaking Gimli's shoulders so that he had to hold onto the saddle horn twice as tight to keep from falling off.

“Now that's what I like to hear!” he said, “What say we get your first heist under your belt? Can't have a more auspicious start to a life of crime than a job that earns you some dinero in your pockets and no blood on your hands. You wouldn't happen to know the combination to that safe, would ya?”

Gimli couldn't help but but chuckle. It was surprising how light he felt with his decision made.

“I'm afraid they don't trust firemen with the safe combinations on these trains,” he replied.

Legs seemed to consider this for a moment before shrugging.

“Well that's alright,” he said, voice easy and unconcerned, “Bo and his brother always have a stick or two of dynamite on them. Come on, the gang’s hideout shouldn't be too far from here.”

With that Legs coaxed his horse forward into an easy gait.

It took a bit of time before Gimli felt steady enough to focus on anything other than not falling off.

“Why is your gang out this way?” he asked. “I thought you said you weren't planning on a train heist?”

“I said I wasn't planning on no _solo_ train heist _today_.”

Gimli could practically hear the grin in Legs voice.

“We been planning for weeks to hit a gold train that's set to pass through here in two days’ time. Might have to change those plans now.”

“Why do I get the feeling that that's more common out here than most places?” Gimli commented.

“Out here, there ain't nothing common,” Legs replied. His voice was almost wistful. Gimli glanced back to see the bandit’s gaze gone distant, staring at either something Gimli couldn't see, or nothing at all.

“There's no place like this land. Sure, fair don't exactly exist out here, and the law don't really serve anyone but the lawman, as far as I can tell. But any man can make a new life for himself out here no matter where he's from, if he's willing to fight for it.”

Gimli considered Legs words, and wondered if he'd ever come to see this rough terrain in the same light.

“And where are you from, Legs?”

Based on his coloration, Gimli would have guessed some kind of northern European, but there was something about the shape of his eyes and the line of his nose that didn't quite seem to fit that idea.

Legs lips quirked into a wry smile.

“Oh, a bit here and a bit of there,” he replied, noncommittal. “Suffice to say, my folk have been here have been a lot longer than yourn.”

There was a sharp whistle from up ahead, and Gimli whipped around to face front, nearly unseating himself from the saddle in his haste. Sitting atop the next ridge was a dark man sitting astride a dark bay horse. He cut a striking figure.

“Who's that?” Gimli asked. He couldn't help but be unsure about running into a stranger so soon after their little calamity.

“That's Strider!” Legs replied, waving his hat in greeting. Strider raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“Dare I ask what Strider is?”

Legs was grinning widely by this point.

“Why, Strider is the the illustrious leader of our merry gang, although you may have heard of him by one of his other names. I swear he has a dozen of ‘em. And I would also wager the most poetical soul out in these parts,” he explained cheerfully. “But if you're asking about his esteemed heritage… well I don't rightly know and I don't rightly care.

“It's like I said,” he continued, the distance closing between them and Strider, “in our gang, it don't really matter where you're from, just long as you ride with us.”

There was a sense of exhilaration growing in Gimli, and a wide grin broke across his face.

“That sounds mighty fine, partner.”

 

End.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Earth Moves Under Our Feet (It's A Loco Motion) [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8094292) by [Morvidra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvidra/pseuds/Morvidra)




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